Almost Like
by Miz Thang
Summary: Harry locks Draco in a room. That’s only the beginning. You might remember this story as the deleted ‘Trilogy’. It’s been edited, hence the repost.


**Title: **Almost Like  
**Author:** Miz Thang  
**Characters/Pairing: **Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, HP/DM  
**Rating:** FRT / PG-13  
**Word Count: **3044  
**Warnings:** Slash, obviously. Character death mentioned.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.  
**Summary: **Harry locks Draco in a room. That's only the beginning.

**Notes:** You might remember this story as the deleted 'Trilogy'. It's been edited, hence the repost.

"Let. Me. Out. _Potter_!"

There's something about Malfoy's voice. It's wavering just a little bit as he attacks the door. More than one charm locks him in – all of them impossible to undo with a simple _Alohomora_. It would take him a while, if even at all, to get out. But he's not trying right now. No, right now, he'd rather have his tantrum anf later he'll think rationally.

"I can't, Draco. You know why."

"And yet, somehow, I can't find it in myself to care. You can't keep me in here, Potter!"

It's for Malfoy's own good – Harry locking him in a room in the dungeon. It's Snape's office to be exact. And it really is for his own good. Draco may not see it now, but Harry is doing this to help him, and only to help him. And that's the part that matters, right?

"I'm sorry," It's all Harry really wants and needs to say.

_Harry Potter_, Draco would sneer if he knew, _in love with little old me. And you're purposely keeping me from fighting in the war. I'm flattered. Really._

"And what if you die? Then what, Potter?"

"Hermione and Ron know. So does Snape." Harry says, and he means a lot more than about locking Draco up in Snape's office. "But they can't send you to Azkaban if you're not even there."

Because Harry doesn't know what side of the war Draco's on. And that worries him because, if he does win, he doesn't want to lose Malfoy. But that goes right back to point a – he fell in love with the prick. Which was, _not_, by any chance, flowers and candy, thank you. For one, it was Draco Malfoy. With Harry Potter. How _easy_ could Is possibly be?

"I'm _still_ a Death Eater, you nitwit."

"You don't have the mark." Harry counters calmly. He isn't lying. Yes, Draco is deeply affiliated with many Death Eaters (his father and aunt notwithstanding), but he isn't one himself. Harry would know – having seen Draco naked before (and checking more than once).

"Harry!" Ron bellows from the base of the stairs, him and Hermione waiting upon Harry. "We have to go – you can come back for the Ferret later!"

Hermione only rolls her eyes and muses to herself that this was the guy she liked romantically but would never tell. It was almost tragic in that way.

"I have to go, Draco." Harry says, only able to imagine what Draco must look like on the other side of the door (deeply angry, turning red in the face and wanting to hex Harry into oblivion). It gives him a bit of comfort to know Draco is safe, though (only one less person Harry has to worry about losing upstairs).

"I'll come back for you. I promise."

He wants to reach out and touch the door, and almost does, before he lets his hand drop and turns to leave. He's scared as hell, but if Draco survives, that's good enough for him.

Draco begins to bang on the door again as Harry catches up with Ron and Hermione, yelling for the boy to come back and let him out. The three leave as Draco finally gives up, leaning against the door and sliding down to the floor. He's crying, not all-out sobbing, of course, but it's close enough when you consider that Malfoys don't cry. His shoulders shake and he's angry because Harry's the only one that does this to him. Make him cry. Happy tears, sad ones; it makes no difference. Tears are tears.

"I swear to you, Harry Potter," Draco mutters moments later when he can almost hear the sounds of fighting, "if you don't come back…"

-

"Draco."

He looks up but it isn't Harry. Then again, Draco hadn't really expected it to be. He had, of course, expected one of the others to let him out. He didn't think about why Hermione, of all, had to be the one to come. He didn't want to think about the worst.

"Where's Harry?" He asks, pushing himself to his feet. How long had he sat there and thought of the million ways Harry could die? How long had he imagined the different gruesome possibilities? How long had he tortured himself? How long had he _cried_?

"The infirmary." Hermione answers. Then, "It isn't over yet, Draco. The war. Voldemort didn't show."

"I don't care about any of that, Granger. I just need to see Harry." Draco says. He's surprised by the sudden revelation. He doesn't care about the war. He doesn't care about who wins the war. He doesn't care about family expectations or what he was _supposed_ to do with his life. All he cares about is Harry and Harry's well being. It's very sappy, but awfully true.

"All right." She steps back and allows him to pass her. She watches him as he slowly makes his way towards the stairs (his entire body was numb from sitting for far too long). "Don't…don't mention Ron to Harry, Draco. Please?"

Draco turns and frowns at her. More at her "please" than the request itself. "What happened to him?"

Hermione takes a large breath, as if she's having trouble breathing. Draco just then notices that her clothing is filthy; she's still in the same clothing she wore to war. "He's dead. I haven't had the…chance…to tell Harry yet." She pauses and Draco doesn't say anything because he knew she'd loved him (and never said anything until it was too late – because that was the way all angsty romances went, wasn't it?). "Go to Harry."

That's what Draco does. He has nothing to tell Hermione and doesn't pretend so. His walk eases and becomes easier as he stretches his legs, and he's perfectly fine as he reaches the infirmary. He stands outside for the longest moment, though, unsure if he really wants to know what's behind those doors.

"I do believe, Mr. Malfoy, that it will not kill you to go in."

It's Snape, of course. How he explained away the murder of Dumbledore, Draco doesn't know. And frankly, Draco can care less. He doesn't care what Snape has to say, no more than he cares about anyone else.

Therefore, Draco doesn't even dignify his ex-professor's comment with an answer. He enters the infirmary, immediately spotting the Weasleys, as Draco can tell for obvious reasons. They're all standing or sitting around a bed where the curtains are closed, and Draco figures that Ron's in that bed.

He passes them without acknowledgement, stopping at the bed where Harry lies. He's all right, Draco thinks, staring at Harry. He remains unmoving for the longest time and is just about to accio the last remaining chair when Harry's eyes open.

"Draco."

Draco stops and turns to face Harry. "Hermione said you got tricked."

"We did. Big time." Harry answers.

Just then, Molly Weasley lets out a wail, and Harry looks towards the noise. Draco is grateful for the curtains around the bed. If Granger could hurry up, he could stop pretending that no one had died.

He felt slightly odd, evern if he never had liked the Weasel. It was like that sometimes, moreso over the past few months. When you knew someone, or saw them virtually everyday, seeing them one moment and then in the next –

"What was that?"

Draco's answer is, "Who knows?"

"Draco Malfoy – "

"Don't try to act like you're someone's mother; it's not that attractive on you." Draco pauses, because he's getting his pain between his eyes from the lights, and because repressing the urge he used to have to tell Harry every bit no unpleasant news he knew is hard after having it ingrained for so long. "Or at all, for that matter."

"Just…tell me who died."

"Ron."

It's not Draco that says this, of course. If Draco had said anything, he'd been likely to have still called Ron Weasel, even in death (and, let's face it, not a very smart idea with all the Weasley clan a few feet away). It's Hermione that magically appears, a very sober look on her face.

"Ron?" Harry echoes.

Hermione nods. "Ron." Confirmation.

Draco watches Hermione carefully. Not because he's interested in what she's telling Harry, but because he can see her on the verge of a break down. Emotions were always in someone's eyes, weren't they?

"How?"

"_Avada Kedavra_. He was protecting me." Hermione seems to freeze after that, and unexplicably runs from the infirmary. Draco watches her for a moment, and expects that Hermione will be gone for a while.

He turns back to Harry and notices that he isn't at all fine, but that doesn't stop him from asking. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" Harry asks bitterly. "I'm fine. Real bloody fine. It's only my fault that my best friend is dead – " Molly Weasley wails again – "so why wouldn't I be fine?"

Draco finally does get tired of standing and _Accio_s the chair his way. He sits down and eyes Harry. "Weren't you listening to Granger? It was her fault."

"It's my war."

"You really are deluded, aren't you?" Draco eyes him with narrowed eyes as if he's insane. "Not everything is about you. I know you like to think so, what with all the names and articles and that stupid scar, but contrary to previous belief, the world revolves around the sun. Not your big head."

"Nice one of us is sure of something." Harry mutters; of course Draco catches it. He's fine tuned himself and excels in the art of everything Harry-related. Even as far as catching the odd, sometimes entertaining, retorts he mutters under his breath.

"You are the epitome of self pity, Potter." Draco says, arms crossed. "I highly doubt people are making casualty lists and checking each one off, 'Potter's fault'."

"But it's _Ron_." Harry says, almost as if it explains everything. And maybe it does, because if any of Draco's friends –

"Not everyone's going to live, Harry. Especially not forever."

The two of them stare at each other, and they're both scared, because they have plans for their lives (which might've involved each other) and the idea of them being gone is frightening.

"What if I like it that way?"

"Then you're seriously deluded. Denial doesn't suit you either, Potter."

"But – "

"Harry."

Harry looks at Draco strangely. "I think I need to rest."

Draco stands, because he isn't stupid, and uses his wand to send his chair back to its spot near the wall. "Right."

When Harry is sure Draco's gone, he begins to plan for the next battle, because he's going to try anyway.

-

Harry's got a lot of nerve.

And Draco isn't overexaggerating. Pissing Draco off by bribing the Fat Lady into not letting him out of the Gryffindor common room is icing on the cake, actually. He really did want to spend hour after hour in a room of all that stupid red and gold. Really – no sarcasm at all.

It's a surprise attack on Voldemort's part. Someone – Theodore Nott, Draco's sure – lets Death Eaters in (yes, again). Wards fall and all hell breaks loose immediately after that. This has to be the real thing, everyone knows, because Voldemort decides to show up for this one. He wants to face Harry once and for all (and Drao really wants Harry to win, because he doesn't know what it would be like if he didn't. He doesn't want to know what it'll be like without Harry).

When it happens, Draco's with Harry and Hermione (not that he knows why she's there; she's like the third wheel with Ron dead so he knows she must be lonely). Neville Longbottom runs into the common room, yelling about Death Eaters being inside the school – again.

Of course, like the good little heroes they are, the Gryffindors that litter the tower file out of the common room, readying themselves to fight and maybe die, while leaving Draco alone (not alone as in Draco watched them leave. He attempts to follow because he damn sure isn't going to sit around again when the Fat Lady slams shut on him and Harry tells him how sorry he is through the door. Again. Bastard).

So, Draco, once again, sits and waits, for hours on end, all because Harry has a hero complex and will probably blame himself if Draco meets his untimely end. Which Draco of course thinks it's stupid. Especially when Hermione's likely to die and is, yet, still out there.

Draco doesn't actually want to die though, so all of this is more him being angry at Harry attempting to control him and what he does than anything else. He doesn't like being told what he can or cannot do, and that does include dying (this is directed to one Harry Potter), no matter how much Harry probably likes to think it doesn't.

So, he sits. And he waits. And he gets angry, and soon bored. And he becomes worried later because Harry could be dead for real this time. It's not the time for grudges.

So Draco explores Gryffindor Tower, and he (worries about Harry) watches a portion of the war from a window, so high up in the sky that everyone down below looks like dots. It's kind of despairing. He doesn't know what side of the war he'd be fighting on if he was down there himself. Would he fight for Voldemort but watch out for Harry? Choose at the last moment that he wants to be on Harry's side? He doesn't know, but it's highly probable.

All he does know is that he's tired of – 

"Draco?! Draco!"

Draco does roll his eyes a great deal, but finds the owner of the voice well enough. It's Hermione. "What?"

"He won. Draco, He won!" She has the brightest smile on her face and Draco figures that she's happy enough to forget Weasley's dead, even if for just a moment.

"Where is he?" And doesn't this feel like quite the repeat for Draco, almost exactly like just a few short weeks ago? He'd done the same things, had these same feelings. Only this time, he can stand easily. Nor is he in the dungeons locked inside Snape's office.

"I'll give you one guess." She replies smartly and he really wants to call her what she is (mudblood), just because he can. He doesn't though – damn Harry.

She must see it on his face; she rolls her eyes. "The infirmary, of course."

"Is that cow going to let me out now?" Draco asks in reference to the painting hanging on Gryffindor's door. The Fat Lady.

"She should. The war's over, isn't it?"

He doesn't give her a reply, mainly because he doesn't like talking to her, bypassing her and pushing open the door. It's a disaster outside. Hermione follows close behind him as he stares at the destroyed photos (and the Fat Lady was skipped over, why?) and the cracks and holes in the walls. All he knows is that McGonagall is going to have a job ahead of her when she gets back into rebuilding again.

"What happened? During the war?" He askes as they near the infrimary.

"They tried to kill us and we defended ourselves." Draco gets ready to comment, but Hermione continues. "There's a rumor, that Voldemort said something, about you, and ticked Harry off. Everyone's saying that you're the reason Harry killed Voldemort." Hermione says quickly, her voice more than a bit hushed.

Draco stops and turns to face her as she pauses in front of him. "And just what is the rumor about what he said?" Because Draco isn't stupid and he knows there is one.

Hermione moves closer, as if to whisper in his ear, and Draco grimaces. She fails to notice. "There is no rumor. There's witnesses, facts. They say that he said something along the lines of…having fun, with you, after he killed Harry and won The War."

"Glad to know I was of help." Draco replies dryly, and then enters the infirmary. Again.

Hermione follows at a slower pace. Everyone's there, seemingly all wanting to talk to Harry at the same time. The Order, a few teachers, a few Gryffindors. Fred and George are in the middle of a joke. As she watches them, she has a fleeting thought of why Ron is absent from the moment and wishes she'd died instead of him.

She manages to still smile goodnaturedly at the twins as they finish out, and then says, after the laughter has died down, "Maybe we should go for a while? Give Harry some alone time?" She tilts her head slightly in Draco's direction.

Harry and Draco both wonder if they weren't supposed to catch that.

The others do leave, and Draco and Harry are alone. Draco first says, "That was immature."

"What?"

"You bribed that fat cow into locking me in the common room."

"Oh. That." Harry shrugs a bit. "I didn't want to have to worry."

"You could've said, 'Draco, I'm scared for your life and I might get myself killed because of it.'"

Harry looks at him in disbelief. "And that would have worked?"

"Probably not. But it'd been worth a try." Draco answers. He sits in an unoccupied chair. "Just know that if you try it again, I am going to hex you."

"And it's been noted." Harry grins.

"I don't know what you find so funny. I'm being serious."

"I know."

"Then stop smiling – " Draco stops when Harry's grin only widens. "For Merlin's sake. What?"

"It's just," Harry pauses and Draco expects the worst. "You're alive, and I'm alive, and Voldemort's gone. It's almost like happily ever after."

Draco stares at him for a long moment before coming to a conclusion. "You, Harry Potter, are a pansy."

"In your opinion." Harry retaliates. "But, then again, you love me, so what does that say about you?"

"That I'm insane."

Harry decides to let Draco know how much he appreciates that by hitting him with his pillow. Of course, much more happens after that, and the yelling brings all Harry's visitors running in to witness the insanity of the moment, but that's a different story for a different time.

**End.**


End file.
